William Bernhardt - Dark Eye

“Well, sure, but still-”

“You have my blessing.”

“That’s damn straight of you.”

His face dissolved into that smile, that silly, toothy smile that used to turn my insides into goulash. “Well, I love you, you know.”

“You do? Even-”

“Even.”

It felt good talking to him, so warm and comforting. I felt as if I could sleep forever after that, like I could smell him, right there next to me in bed. So you can imagine the shock I experienced when I blinked and saw Lisa peering down into my face.

“What the hell have you done to yourself?”

I tried to bring myself around, but my head was screaming and there are some levels of pain that are impossible to mask.

“You’re hungover.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Did I slur my speech? “I had a tough night.”

“I can see that.” And then the most horrible thing happened. Horrible and horrifying. She started to cry. “Damn it, Susan, you said you weren’t going to do this anymore.”

“I-I wasn’t-”

“I’m supposed to be looking after you. God, what a shitty job I’ve done. I mean, you’ve only been out of the hospital for-”

“Lisa,” I said, concentrating on proper pronunciation, “it’s not your fault. I was just feeling a little stressed.”

“Oh, spare me your rationalizations.” She pressed her hand against her forehead. Tears streamed around the palm of her hand. “I talked to Dr. Coutant yesterday. He told me you missed your appointment with him. That you haven’t been going to IOP.”

“I’ve been working.”

“They have night sessions.”

“I’ve been working nights, too. You don’t want me to lose this job, do you?”

“Frankly, I don’t care about your job, Susan. I don’t even think this is a good job for you, not now. What I care about is you!”

And she did, too. I could see that in her watery eyes, not that I needed additional proof. I felt like something someone might scrape off the heel of their shoe. “Look, Lisa, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. Honest.”

“That’s such bullshit.”

“No, I mean it this time.”

She walked away from the bed and stared out the window. “It’s just like they told me. You’re an alcoholic. And alcoholics are liars. They’ll say and do anything. Because deep down, no lover on earth can take the place of a chemical addiction. Addicts will lie, cheat, and steal to get their fix.”

“Honey, please-”

“I’m moving in with you, Susan.”

“Now wait just a-”

“Don’t waste it. I should’ve never let you stay by yourself. That was stupid. I’ll pick you up at work and we’ll spend the evenings together.”

“I don’t need a damn babysitter.”

“You don’t know what you need. And you’ll start going to IOP at night, too, no matter how many crazed killers are on the prowl.”

“And supposing I don’t agree?”

Lisa sucked in her breath. “Dr. Coutant has been asked by Chief O’Bannon to report on your progress.”

“What?”

“So that O’Bannon can evaluate whether you’re ready for reinstatement. And I talk to Coutant. Often. So you see, Susan, if I give you a bad report-”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I sure as hell would.”

At this point in time, I think it would be fair to say I hated Lisa. She was my best friend and always had been-and I hated her. I knew that she was trying to help me, that everything she said was right. I knew how hard it was for her to play tough with me. But I still hated her.

“That sounds fun, Lisa. A sleepover. Maybe you can paint my toenails. We can braid each other’s hair.”

My sarcasm was wasted on her. “Clean yourself up and get dressed. I’ll drive you to work.”

“I have a car.”

“I’ll drive you to work.”

“Lisa, it’s eight o’clock in the morning. I wouldn’t-”

“I’ll drive you to work.”

I rolled out of bed, trying to pretend like I wasn’t hurting, thinking maybe I wouldn’t go into the office at all.

Then the phone rang.

I’d never expected this investigation to bring me back to the Transylvania. Thus far, the killer had been careful not to repeat himself. But I suppose he didn’t have much choice. She wasn’t coming to him. He had to take whatever chance he could get.

It wasn’t hard to figure out what had happened here. Both cars were still attached to one another. The parked car was particularly damaged. Anyone who had been in there must’ve been injured, maybe seriously. Blood was everywhere. Maybe it was just the fact that I’d drunk all my meals for several days running, but it was getting to me. I was sick in so many ways I couldn’t enumerate them all.

The press was there in force. Not surprising, given who the abductee was. The news was already blanketing the airwaves. This was now the biggest story anywhere, everywhere, all across the nation. Maybe even internationally. The reporters were demanding answers that we didn’t have, acting as if it was our fault that we didn’t. They shouted questions at me as I passed, which I ignored. O’Bannon was dealing with them, or trying. He looked like a drowning man facing a tsunami.

Lisa dropped me off at the outer perimeter of the crime scene, where Patrick was waiting to brief me.

“How did he find her?” I asked.

Patrick shrugged. “Everyone on earth knew she was at the Transylvania. It had been on the news. She even mentioned it on her show. She was doing live remotes from the ballroom. He may have known what car she was using. Possible that he scouted all the parking lots-including this private one for employees and VIPs-found her car, waited for his chance.”

“Why go after the guard? He’s never killed a man before.”

“It was necessary to get to Spencer.”

“And why did he want to do that so badly?”

“She practically put out a hit on him.”

“Yeah, but so what? He likes attention. He’s been craving a challenging opponent.” I shook my head. “It wasn’t the reward money. It was the character assassination.”

Patrick didn’t get it. “Is it possible to assassinate the character of a serial killer?”

“It is in his mind. Remember-he’s a proper southern gentleman doing some kind of respectable, perhaps even sacred work. And then this woman goes on television and suggests that he’s a pervert. It’s an affront to his honor.”

Chief O’Bannon walked between us, a grim expression on his face. “They’re demanding a press conference, people. What can we tell them?”

“Stall,” I advised. “We need more time.”

“They’re very insistent.”

“Tell them to cool their heels.”

“That won’t cut it. In their view, we’ve let a serial killer snatch one of America’s most beloved television personalities. One who recently suffered a great personal loss-thanks to the same killer. All the news reports have been critical of us.”

“Okay, then promise them a conference-later. After we’ve had more time to sift through the evidence.”

He grunted. “Can I at least tell them whether we think Spencer is still alive?”

“There’s no corpse,” Patrick said. “Why bother taking her if he’s going to kill her?”

“He’s killed all the others.”

“But not right away,” I insisted. “There’s no reason to believe this will be different.”

“So there’s still a chance. If we move quickly.”

“But I wouldn’t say that to the press,” Patrick quickly interjected. And we all knew why. Because we didn’t want to be blamed if we didn’t find the killer in time to save her. As things stood, we weren’t even close.

“We’ve got to do something,” O’Bannon growled. “You bring Darcy out today?”